


Sweeter by the Day

by dontcallmebree



Series: Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bearded Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Modern Bucky Barnes, Personal Assistant Bucky Barnes, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, sorta Slice of Life or timestamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcallmebree/pseuds/dontcallmebree
Summary: Bucky wonders what teenage him would think of his life now, and hopes that he’d be proud and as content as current Bucky feels, and has been for the last few years. He can’t imagine a different life now that he has this one.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022916
Comments: 44
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back to the lives of steve and bucky.
> 
> Meraki_Moli is as always our lovely beta reader.

He fucked up. He knows he fucked up. Steve’s done so many stupid things in his life, truly idiotic decisions that came right back and bit him in the ass, like that one time he tried to die and got sent a few decades into the future instead. He didn’t see that one coming. 

This, though, was all but prophesied. Bucky told him over and over again, if he so much as pulled a stitch on the pair Maia sent him all those months ago, Steve was going to regret it. In the moment, it was easy to roll his eyes and promise that of course, he would do no such thing, he had this thing called _self-control_ and _who did Bucky think he was talkin’ to cause Steve knew better_.

When Bucky came home all flushed from working out and the following routine friend date with Clint - which Steve _doesn’t_ feel all squirmy about, _honestly, Sam, fuck off_ \- and greeted him looking better than ever, well. Self-control was the last thing on his mind. 

It seemed like it was the last thing on Bucky’s too, the way he was writhing against Steve where the older man had had him against the back of the couch. That is, until Steve’s stupid giant fingers tore into the seat of his leggings and Bucky’s gasp was more out of shock and fury instead of pleasure. 

It was an accident, sure, but it was also par for the course - Bucky coming home from pilates in one mouth watering pair of leggings or another and Steve quite literally ripping him out of it. Except he had specifically been asked to make sure to keep his paws off this one, a pair that even Steve can tell is an exceptional quality and so well designed it makes Bucky’s already incredible ass look that much better. 

Steve would argue that’s _why_ he lost his mind and ripped into it in the first place, but he doesn’t think Bucky would appreciate him shifting blame like that. Just a hunch. 

As soon as the loud _reetttch_ of the torn fabric reaches their ears, Steve’s life flashes before his eyes. All he sees is Bucky and the absolutely destroyed choked off sounds he’s making, hand pressed against the giant hole across his asscheek and upper thigh. “Oh god, shit, honey, I’m-”

Bucky silences him with one cold look. He takes a breath, probably gathering enough strength and patience so as not to strangle the guilt-ridden man in front of him. “I’m taking a shower,” he finally says, and slides off his perch on the couch to calmly walk to the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

It’s clear Steve is not invited.

His first call, of course, is Maia. “Why aren’t you FaceTiming me?” is the greeting he gets. It’s a reasonable enough question, given that they usually FaceTime so Rhea can see his face. The frequency to which they do it is why Rhea can recognize him at such a young age even when living on opposite coasts for most of the year.

Steve jumps straight to the point. “Can you tell me where to buy the leggings you got Bucky?”

“Um,” sounds of Maia distractedly going through a few drawers make it through, probably in the middle of getting some work done. “It’s from a local boutique over here. Don’t think you can get any, though, it was part of this limited line. Why, he’s got _you_ picking up pilates now?”

Steve groans, rubbing at his eyelids in frustration. “No, I need to get a replacement pair. I, uh,” he clears his throat, “kinda ripped the pair you gave him,” he mumbles, though by the loud, ringing laughter coming from the other end of the line, Maia heard him just fine. “It ain’t funny, he’s so fucking upset, Maia, I gotta fix it!”

“Oh, Steve,” Maia manages to sigh between bouts of laughter, and settles with, “Can’t help you with this one,” before hanging up with a click. Steve can’t believe she _hung up and abandoned him to his fate_. Fuck. 

The only other person he can think of asking for help is Clint, and he cringes at what that conversation would sound like. He’d do anything for Bucky though, even if it is making a voluntary social call to one of his teammates. Besides, they’re somewhat tentative friends now, right? He helped build the guy’s greenhouse, for fuck’s sake. This should be easy.

He spends a solid minute looking down at his phone before realizing he doesn’t have Clint’s number. 

Bucky’s phone is thankfully still in the living room, so he makes use of it and dials up Clint before changing his mind. “Bucky!” Clint greets cheerfully. “What, did you leave something?”

“Uh, hey, Clint,” Steve starts haltingly.

There’s a long moment of silence before Clint gets out, “Steve? Is something wrong? Is Bucky okay?”

“No, no, shit,” Steve quickly intervenes. “Everything’s fine. I, uh, just called to um-” What was he thinking calling Clint? They barely know each other - in a social sense, at least. Sure, Steve joins Bucky and Clint when they get milkshakes once in a while, but they’re both just there for Bucky. He’s the link that buffers all their interactions, and without him Steve’s kind of grasping for straws. He can’t really employ his Captain Rogers persona when asking for help to get out of the doghouse with his boyfriend. Clint might just laugh at him like Maia did.

“Steve, you good, man?” Clint sounds partly amused if still a little alarmed, and Steve can’t blame him. 

He sighs, hating having to ask this of one more person. It’s his own fault, though, so he toughs it out. “Do you know what brand of leggings Bucky likes? I kinda, maybe, sort of, ruined his favorite ones.”

“You-” the horrid lacing Clint’s voice is clear in that one word. “The leggings he wore today? The one he went on and on about to me for half a damn milkshake?”

Steve winces, feeling the guilt and horror sink deep in his gut, squeaking out, “Please help.”

“How did you- You know what, don’t tell me. Let me send you some links and addresses, okay?” Steve’s so thankful that Clint doesn’t laugh at him and hang up like _some less than courteous people_ , that he’s tripping over his words in thanks before ending the call.

Taking a deep breath, he makes lunch in the hopes that he’ll get to apologize over food, but no dice. He waits until the homemade pad thai goes cold, and finally braves knocking on the bedroom door. He’s avoided it so far, but it’s time to gather his courage and try his luck.

Steve brings the second plate over, but goes back to sprinkle some of Bucky’s favorite crackers on the pad thai and squeeze half a lime onto the dish. Right, time to go ahead and knock. He is _not_ _at all_ buying time for the inevitable crash and burn this attempt will be. After more than three years together, Steve is well acquainted with Bucky’s anger. It does not appreciate company. 

He knocks tentatively, almost too soft to really make any noise. “Buck? Honey?” Nothing, just as expected. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your favorite leggings. Please come talk to me?” He hears some shuffling from inside, but nothing else. “I made some pad thai, it’ll be out here in the living room, okay?” He sighs, and places everything down on the coffee table. He’d leave it in the oven to keep warm, but Bucky _loves_ cold pad thai. 

Shuffling back to the kitchen, he glumly scarfs down his own lunch. The text from Clint comes to Bucky’s phone not too long after, and Steve quickly forwards it to himself. He’s going to get some replacement pairs, _better_ replacement pairs, and _everything will be fine_. No couch for him tonight.

Four hours later and Steve’s back home, with a very nicely wrapped box of sports wear, including unbelievably expensive leggings. If someone ripped something of his that costs _hundreds of dollars_ just because they were horny, he’d be mad too. He’d blame 21st century pricing but he’s pretty sure this is just one of those stupidly priced luxury items. 

The cold pad thai is gone, so at least he knows Bucky had lunch, and the bedroom door is open. “Buck?” He fumbles with the box before setting it down on the kitchen table, and spying a couple plates of heated up ribs and potatoes on the counter. Maybe they’ll talk over dinner after all.

Bucky walks out of the bedroom, still looking a little annoyed but mostly resigned. He always just needs some time, which was something Steve had to figure out overtime, what with being naturally pushy and bullheaded. Learning to hold his tongue and give Bucky space was a hard and slow lesson he’s glad he’s mostly mastered now. “We have to finish the ribs by tonight,” he gestures at the food, and goes to get utensils and glasses.

Steve picks up the box and brings it closer, watching Bucky take in the rich maroon color and gold trim around the top. “I got some stuff for you.”

Bucky tentatively lifts the lid, and huffs a light laugh at the pile of new leggings and other athletic wear. “This is where you were?” He pulls out a couple pairs before setting it all aside, pulling Steve in for a quick kiss. “Thanks.” He’s a little subdued, but the amused glint in his eye is miles better than the cold silence following this morning, so he’ll take it.

“‘Course, Buck. I really am sorry. You kept saying that you wanted to keep that one-”

Bucky covers his mouth with a hand then kisses the back of it, as he often does to stop Steve’s rambling, and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever witnessed. “I know,” he threads soft, lithe fingers through Steve’s dark blonde hair, tugging on the ends before letting them rest at the nape of his neck. “You know it’s not really about the leggings, right? I don’t care that much about goddamn _pants_.”

Steve searches Bucky’s eyes, and in the ten seconds before he says, “Yeah,” he already knows he’s put the final nail in his own coffin, because _jesus fuck Rogers you’re better at lying than this_. He isn’t, though, not today, the day that everything _doesn’t_ come up Steve Rogers. 

Bucky scoffs, not a trace of warmth left in his tone, and untangles himself from Steve. “You think I’m that shallow?”

“Wait, no,” Steve tries to get back into Bucky’s space, but the other man backs up to escape his advances. “I know, I wasn’t listening, you been tellin’ me-,” he cuts himself off at Bucky’s eye roll, feeling the weight slowly creep back over his chest. How the hell is he _still_ messing this up?

Bucky turns away, and grabs his dinner and a bottle of water. “Fucking forget it, Steve,” he says over his shoulder, retreating back to the bedroom, door firmly shut. 

Couch it is, then.

▽

◆

Bucky finds Steve, the goddamn idiot he’s chosen to love, curled into a less than comfortable looking ball in the living room with the TV still on low in the background. He grabs the remote to turn it off, then gently coaxes Steve awake with soft kisses across his forehead. “Steve, come on.”

The blonde finally stirs, eyes heavy lidded and voice thick with sleep when he croaks out, “Huh? Buck, hey, honey,” and stifles a yawn.

“Come to bed, I need my snuggles,” Bucky pulls Steve up by his arms, who seemingly moves by virtue of following his lead and is mostly unaware of what’s actually happening. Steve’s always had such chaotic sleep cycles, from not being able to settle at all to being dead to the world.

Steve shuffles into bed obediently, mumbling a sleepy, “M’kay,” and enveloping Bucky in his arms once they settle under the mountain of blankets. Bucky drifts off much easier than he did with a cold empty bed for company. 

Scruffy Steve greets him with the morning sun, hair in disarray and lips dry but soft against his temple. “Mornin’ Buck,” he rumbles, and Bucky buries his face into the warm crook of his neck, letting the feeling of being engulfed by the larger man wash over him. “Guess you brought me back here, huh?”

Bucky hums an affirmative, resting his forehead against Steve’s collarbone. “Pretty much. What, were you withholding cuddles to get on my good side? Cause that’s a shit plan, Steve.” Steve’s chest shakes with laughter against the side of his face, and Bucky has to pull back just so he can watch the way his face crinkles with happiness. 

“Nah, just testin’ out the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing,” he ducks down to plant a real kiss on Bucky’s lips, caressing his back in soothing motions. “I think it worked.”

“You’re such a doofus,” Bucky points out, fiddling with the collar of Steve’s top. “I don’t want Maia to know I ruined her gift,” he sighs, and Steve turns to stone against his side. He slowly pulls further back to look Steve in the eye. “What did you do?”

Steve purses his lips and pleads, “Please don’t be mad at me.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. He can only get angry at his boyfriend so many times in less than 24 hours. “I, uh, kind of told Maia what I did,” he confesses, and Bucky groans in defeat. “ _You_ didn’t ruin her gift, Buck, I did. And she’s not gonna care anyway, did you think she would be upset? It ain’t like it was destroyed on purpose.”

“I just,” Bucky lowers his eyes, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in the bedspread. “She got those for me for no reason, like she just thought of me when she saw them.” He peeks up at Steve, who’s got a light furrow between his brows. “It felt like we were bonding, okay? Like she saw me as more than just your boyfriend.”

“Buck,” Steve scoots him further up the bed with an easy shove, so he can look him in the eye. “You know Maia likes you.”

“It was nice to think we have our own relationship; something that had nothing to do with you.” Maia’s always been very nice to him, but it’s not like they get to spend one on one time often. And while she’s expressed how he’s become part of the family and welcomed him with open arms, this was the first time he’s seen it manifested into her doing something for Bucky _just because_. He might be putting more meaning into stretchy pants, but whatever. 

“Okay.” Bucky looks up at Steve’s face, unable to hide the surprise that Steve’s just accepting his reasoning. It’s not the _most_ sensible he’s been. “I get it,” Steve shrugs. “I’m sorry I didn’t, before.” Bucky sighs, because he really doesn’t know what to do with Steve. He’s far from flawless, and yet perfect at the same time. 

“C’mere and kiss me,” Bucky pulls at the man’s t-shirt until he rolls over and onto him, and decides the issue of Steve’s inexplicable self can be saved for another day.

◆

Ray is all but bursting out of his seat in excitement, eyes sparkling with pride. “You’ve met Mel, right? I mean, that kid’s a fuckin’ star, you just see!” 

Bucky purses his lips, nodding along. “I know, Ray, Steve’s already promised to go, didn’t he?” 

Ray grumbles, and finishes off his drink before standing up. “I’ll see you around, keep an eye out for Steve, ya hear?” Bucky watches him slip into his jacket and head off, out the door with surprising agility. Ray’s always a chaotic delight, spry even in his old age. It’s always weird to think about the fact that he’s younger than Steve - technically, anyway. 

Bucky’s tucked away in a corner at Tapped, having planned to meet up with Luke and Matt for lunch, and decided to show up a little early to find some people he needs to talk to. The bar’s become quite the hub for the Roshars, a second - or rather, third - choice after the deli and Irish pubs they usually frequent for New Year’s. It’s as good a place as any for short meetings. 

He meets with Deena, Scott, and Gen, all of whom drop by to have a quick bite with him and get some business sorted. He’s got Leo to see, too, but he doesn’t spend his time in this neighborhood so Bucky will probably see him at the house. “Alright, I’ll be at the community center if you need me,” Gen packs up and kisses him on the cheek goodbye, leaving a tip on the table before rushing off.

“You look busy,” Luke notes, as he comes by to take away the empty plates and glasses. 

Bucky closes his notebook and tucks it away, leaning onto his elbows on the table. “All done for the day,” he announces with a satisfied smile. “Well, kind of,” he scrunches his nose. “Where’s Matt?”

Luke gestures to the back, and sets the dirty dishes aside behind the bar. “Grabbing some food from the kitchen, pretty sure he’s arguing with Wally about how to make his burger. I swear, if I’m gonna have to find a new cook because of him-” Luke shakes his head in frustration, ambling over and taking a seat with his own plate of nachos. 

Bucky smiles, amused, because Matt’s always been very particular about his food. Hopefully he’s not giving Wally too hard of a time. Bucky has the urge to ask if it’s okay that he was taking meetings there, but it’s not like Tapped isn’t usually crawling with the Roshars, and Luke’s not naive enough to think that they aren’t a large portion of his customers. “How’s business going?” he asks instead.

“Fine,” Luke steeples his fingers together. “Better than expected, really. F&B establishments usually do worse than our current trajectory in the first year.” He scans the half filled room, and the few employees making their way around tables and behind the bar. “Is this you asking as my friend or am I one of your appointments today?” He flicks his eyes towards the closed notebook, eyebrows raised halfway.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m always your friend, Luke. I want Tapped to do well.”

“Just checking,” he shrugs, “Never know. You were plenty friendly with your co-workers today.” Luke’s not outwardly acting like he disapproves of anything, per se, but there _is_ an underlying sense of something unsettling behind his words. 

“They _are_ my friends,” Bucky chooses to point out. “Do _you_ tell Wally about the day’s specials while holding a gun to his head?” His tone doesn’t give a hint as to whether he’s talking literally or in metaphors. Sure, an actual gun is more likely to be involved in Bucky’s line of work, and they both know it, but he’s not a Barnes if he doesn’t grow a little prickly when provoked. He was under the impression Luke was over whatever turmoil he had with the nature of his job. 

Luke swallows the bite he’d just taken, grabbing a napkin to wipe grease off his fingers. “Guess not.”

Matt finally joins them, effectively ending whatever uneasy path their conversation had led to. “Medium rare cheeseburger with extra onions, bacon, and triple cheese,” he announces with a flourish, the dish in front of him looking as mouth watering as it sounds. “And special waffle fries.”

“How the hell am I even supposed to charge you for a nonexistent menu, Matt?” Luke complains, even as he steals the fries for himself. 

“Obviously, you don’t.” Matt feels for the position of his fries and turns his plate around so as to make it harder for Luke to steal more. “I should get free meals on account of helping you open this bar in the first place.”

Luke argues otherwise, and Bucky watches the two bicker while he eats. Somehow, it feels like old times and incredibly new all at once. So many things are different now than they were a decade ago. They’ve all grown up into people with their own lives, priorities and perspectives changed from the years they’ve had to live through. And yet, getting together for some food and unwinding to share what they can of each others’ days still feels as familiar as fourth period lunch and sneaking off campus to do stupid innocuous teenage bullshit. 

Matt and Luke turn to him as one, expecting him to be the tiebreaker on whatever it is they’re fighting about now. “Leave me out of it,” he raises his hands in surrender. Those two have always been able to jump from one argument to another in a blink of an eye, whether it’s about stealing the other’s homework back in school, or claiming to be part owner of the other’s business now as a full grown adult. 

Bucky wonders what teenage him would think of his life now, and hopes that he’d be proud and as content as current Bucky feels, and has been for the last few years. He can’t imagine a different life now that he has this one _._

◆

The house is loud, and full of laughter fueled by endless good food. As they’ve done in years past, Thanksgiving is spent with the Roshars. Many choose to revel in the warmth of this chosen family built over decades, for various reasons. 

Bucky’s own family, that is Alice and Becca, are spending this time of year with their boyfriend’s parents and on a work trip abroad for the museum she works for, respectively. Bucky’s _not_ upset with his sisters. They’ve got their own lives, he gets it. He’s not even a little bit upset, _shut up, Steve_. 

He wonders for a fleeting moment if he’d choose to cut down on time with his Ma if she were still around, like many do. It’s not what his sisters are doing, he’s very aware of that, but he always finds himself imagining what his relationship with his parents would be like if he’d grown up into an adult with them around. It’s not something he likes to think about. 

“Fuck!” Steve flails away from the pot of soup he’s reheating, cradling partially burnt fingers to his chest. A series of words Bucky’s unfamiliar with flies past his lips, but Rita must be somewhat fluent in Irish Gaelic because she uses an unused cutting board to smack him none too gently. 

“Children present, Steven,” Rita hisses to shut him up. “Go ice your hand and _step away from the stove_. I know Dani’s told you to leave the food alone twice today!” Steve grumbles but does as she says, grabbing an ice pack from the ever present pile in the fridge. Bucky’s learned it’s one of those supplies that’s inherent to a place housing the Brooklyn Irish.

As he drops onto the couch next to Bucky, Maia comes over and hands off Rhea to settle in his lap as if demonstrating exactly which child he’s got to watch his mouth for. “I’ll do the soup; you know I make Grams’ food better than you do,” Maia comments off handedly, heading to the kitchen.

Steve retorts with, “Rachel came up with those recipes with Ma in my own damn kitchen, I’m clearly the irrefutable expert on her cooking.” Maia bats away the argument like being present for their inception means nothing at all. Steve pouts, and asks Rhea, “You’re on my side right, baby girl?” Rhea claps along in a picture of gleeful agreement, and Steve rewards her with kisses. She recoils at the scratchy feeling of his beard, scrunching up her face in anticipation of what is sure to be a piercing wail, but Steve quickly bounces her on his knees to head it off. 

Bucky swallows his mouthful of casserole and runs a piece of Turkey through his gravy and wordlessly offers it to Steve, who takes it straight into his mouth. Rhea reaches out to Bucky’s plate, squealing, “Guppy po! Guppy!” 

Steve reaches over and spoons a little bit of mashed potatoes, feeding it carefully to the one year old. Bucky narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Please tell me you haven’t also dubbed me grandpoppy, because I _will_ have words with your mother,” Bucky threatens Rhea with a wagging finger, which she laughs at and pulls down and into her mouth. Bucky sighs, taking it away and cleaning it with a paper towel. “Listen, kid, Steve’s the ancient one, okay? I’m his much younger, much prettier better half.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes at Bucky. He’d succeed at feigning annoyance if it wasn’t for the absolutely dopey look on his face. “You hear that Rhea? Guppy’s got himself a real looker, I can’t be _that_ bad looking if I managed to snag such a gem.” Steve’s resigned himself to the nickname, embracing it like he does his role of godfather and uncle. 

Rhea’s got a handful of gravy and mashed potatoes, half of it smeared across her t-shirt, licking away at her own fingers and all but ignoring them. She’s got better things on her hands than two old men flirting, clearly. Steve cleans her up quickly with a cloth that’s appeared out of nowhere, quick swipes that get rid of most of the mess and will only require an easy change of clothes at the end of dinner. 

Bucky watches Steve and Rhea babble at each other, the latter listening to the blonde’s accented rumble with a wide-eyed look like she’s fascinated by Steve’s pearls of wisdom. Meanwhile, Bucky’s completely missed whatever Steve’s absentmindedly chattering on about, suddenly struck by the obvious fact that Steve would make an amazing father.

The realization, while catching him off guard, doesn’t freak him out as much as he thought it would. Which, really, he honestly didn’t know he felt this secure about their relationship. It by no means summons any desire in him to have kids, too, but knowing that he and Steve can talk about it and be honest is a feeling he’s never had with any of his exes. “Hey,” Bucky says softly, poking Steve in the thigh and tearing his attention away from Rhea’s attempt at pulling at his chin to haul herself up. 

Steve looks over at him, face soft and content as he always is when surrounded by family and friends. “Yeah, honey?”

They’re not exactly the center of attention right now, tucked away in the corner surrounded by scraps of food, stowed away diaper bags, and other paraphernalia that comes with bringing a toddler anywhere. “Is this something you want?” At Steve’s inquiring raised eyebrow, he clarifies, “Kids.” At that, Steve seems to shut down, his face a solid brick wall. “I know you love them,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, trying to figure out what could be garnering this reaction. Does _Steve_ not think they can have this talk?

Steve keeps his eyes downcast, and brings his face close to Rhea’s in some attempt at hiding whatever expression may make it across his features. “I-,” he swallows and rubs at Rhea’s back, who’s calmed down from her mission to climb Steve’s upper body. Kids have the most precise intuition for reading the room, sometimes. “Is that-,” he takes a deep breath and clutches Rhea closer. He shuffles towards Bucky while still stone-faced, if struggling to maintain the expression. 

“Buck,” he tentatively takes Bucky’s hand, but his touch is nothing like the confident and self assured man Steve usually is. If anything, it looks like he’s steeling himself for something. “With who I am, and what I do, I don’t know if that’s in the cards for me.” Steve casts a glance at him, looking the most scared he’s ever seen. “I’m sorry, maybe we shoulda talked about this, I don’t-,” to his horror, Steve’s bordering on sniffling into Rhea’s ruined t-shirt. “I dunno if that’s somethin’ I can give you, honey.”

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky grasps him by the jaw and pulls him close, kissing the crushed look off his face, or at least trying to. “No, no, that’s not what I was saying, I’m sorry, hey,” he follows Steve’s head down when he continues to lower it and escape Bucky’s gaze, “I was just asking, okay? I’m not saying I want kids. Listen to me.” He finally manages to capture Steve’s attention, and pull him out of whatever spiral he was in long enough to let the words sink in. “That’s not something I was planning for my future. _You’re_ it, Steve.”

Steve searches his face for any indication that he’s hiding anything or telling partial truths, and must find nothing because he cautiously asks, “Really?” Bucky nods, caressing Steve’s neck in an effort to calm him down off the mental ledge he’s probably on. “But, what if that’s somethin’ you end up wantin’,” he mumbles. “I don’t- I don’t want you to resent me.” The last bit is said in an almost whisper, and the look on Steve’s face tells him that maybe he didn’t mean for it to slip out either.

Bucky smiles sweetly, stroking down Steve’s arms and finding large, warm palms, making sure they’re still around Rhea. She’s been pulling herself up to standing every chance she gets, so he’s not taking any risks. “That’s why we communicate, right? We keep each other honest, that’s what growing old together’s all about.” At the implication of forever, Steve pinks and ducks his head, pleased with himself. They’ve always been on the same page about being in this for the long haul, but any mention of it never fails to delight the older man. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, the smile gracing his face a refreshing change from the distraught written across it just moments ago. Bucky plants a kiss on his lips just because he can. 

“Besides, I don’t know if you forgot, but I’ve already raised a kid, even sent her off to college and everything. This is me post empty nest.”

Steve playfully narrows his eyes. “Does that make me your midlife crisis? Cause I think you’re supposed to date _younger_ , Buck, you’re doin’ this all wrong.” The teasing glint in Steve’s eye has returned, and as awful as his jokes are, Bucky can’t regret dooming himself for falling in love with such a dope. 

“Nah, you’re my flashy sports car,” he grins devilishly, “‘Cause I just _love_ riding your-”

“Bucky!” Steve clamps his hands gently around Rhea’s ears, only partially faking his scandalized shock. Bucky cackles, smacking a loud, wet, kiss onto Steve’s crimson cheeks. 

“Aw, I was gonna say Mustang, Steve. Everyone knows I’m just dating you for your garage.” Steve huffs in indignation, busying himself with entertaining Rhea with half a mind. “You know I’m _all_ about that trunk of yours-,” he can’t even finish his own awful joke, breaking into giggles. Steve puts on a half-hearted scowl, but joins him in laughter, albeit with disbelieving sighs. He’s acting like he’s never said much worse things, sickeningly sweet innuendos that Bucky didn’t even realize could be a thing. 

He pulls Bucky upright, sinking fingers into curling dark brown hair and pulling him in for a short, tender brush of lips, whispering, “Love you,” into his temple when Busy nuzzles into his neck. He comes face to face with Rhea, and small hands grab his chin and venture towards his mouth - a new thing she can’t get enough of doing today. Yeah, this is exactly what he wants with Steve, a family, however it may end up looking like for them.

◆

Thor’s house - or rather, mansion - isn’t decked out in decorations for the party. In fact, celebrations are confined to the second floor’s main hall, no more than fifty people in attendance. Bucky doubts the same restraint will be shown for the wedding. 

Steve comes back to his side with their drinks, face lit up in happiness for his newly engaged friend. Bucky’s probably sporting a similarly goofy smile, given how radiant Jane has been all night. “We should go say hi,” Steve gestures to the happy couple by the balcony doors. 

“Looks like they’re talking to someone,” Bucky follows Steve’s lead anyway, but feels the need to point out. The dark haired man talking to Thor and shaking Jane’s hand is unfamiliar to him, but then half of the people in the room are. Most of those from Jane’s circle he’s known for as long as he does the soon to be bride, but the only connection to Thor he has is Steve. 

Steve’s large, warm hand snakes around his waist, a thumb rubbing calming circles on his hip - not that he needs it, which means this is more for Steve’s benefit than his own. “That’s, uh, Thor’s brother.” Bucky’s eyebrows fly up into his hairline. He didn’t even know Thor had a brother. “It’s better if we get to talk to him now than later.”

That makes it sound more ominous than necessary, if you asked him, but Steve’s as dramatic as they come. “I’ve never heard of Thor’s brother,” he decides to focus on. You would think the guy would also come to all those benefits and galas they see Thor at, but maybe they trade off duties. Who knows?

“He’s a politician, where they’re from.” Bucky side eyes Steve as they slowly make their way around the room, ever closer to the mysterious second Odinson. “Member of Parliament, actually.” 

“He’s _what_?” It’s not the most shocking thing to find out someone in the government, domestic or otherwise, is tangled up with the Roshars, but something about the way Steve’s acting tells him this isn’t the usual dirty politician. 

Bucky doesn’t get any further clarifications before they finally arrive at Jane’s side, who greets them enthusiastically with deceivingly powerful hugs. He can tell she’s had a few from the way she laughs a little too loud after leaving a perfectly shaped lipstick stain on his cheek. “It’s just your color,” Jane remarks, even as she cleans it off with a fresh napkin. 

“Steve!” Thor’s voice is as booming as ever while hugging both of them at once. “I’m so happy you came, isn’t this just wonderful?” Thor honestly looks like he won the lottery, which, okay yeah he kind of did. Getting astrophysicist extraordinaire Jane Foster to agree to marry you? Worth winning the jackpot ten times over. He knows for a fact that this is hardly the first offer Jane’s had.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Steve beams right back.

Jane elbows Bucky in the side. “As if I’d let you miss my engagement party anyway.” 

“Bucky,” Thor turns slightly to motion at the shorter man beside him. “This is my brother, Loki. I don’t think you’ve met.” They exchange civil if cold handshakes, though Bucky’s still somewhat in the dark as to why.

The answer quickly comes when Loki turns his attention to Steve, with a borderline sneer of, “Rogers, I see you’re still around.” _Not_ someone in bed with the Roshars, then.

“Always good to see you, Loki,” Steve gives a closemouthed smile. The weirdest part of it all, is that he can clearly see that Steve _doesn’t_ hate Loki. Which is honestly surprising, given it doesn’t take much to get on Steve’s bad side.

Loki downs the fruity drink he was nursing, an unpleasant expression making it onto his face from what Bucky guesses is an extremely strong and sour concoction. He saw Darcy at the bar, he wouldn’t put anything past her bizarre tastes. “Still dragging my brother into your same old business of ill repute, I assume?”

“Well, lately, on Tuesdays we golf,” Steve brightly grins. 

Loki huffs in annoyance, sending a disdainful look to Thor, who’s chosen to keep his mouth shut. “And father thinks _I’m_ the black sheep of the family,” he shakes his head, and saunters off. Bucky can’t imagine that’s true, knowing the shit Thor is knee deep in, but the flash of guilt and discomfort across Thor’s face says enough. This is probably one of those things Bucky can’t quite fully understand given he’s never had a parent to judge him in his adulthood. 

“He’s in town for a while?” Steve asks.

Jane nods, grabbing Thor’s arm and draping it over her shoulders. “Flew in just for the engagement, cause you know how close the Odinson brothers are.” Bucky for the life of him can’t identify Jane’s very specific tone, even as Thor tries to hide how his face lights up and Steve laughs like she’s making a joke. 

“Been a while,” Steve shrugs, and changes the subject to Thor and Jane’s wedding plans, the former of whom seems to be heading most of the planning and is very excited to pick out colors for centerpieces. 

Bucky and Jane telepathically carry on their own discussion. He thinks it’s about her dress, a sparkly light green halter that’s both classy and sexy at the same time, but the last eyebrow wiggle he gets in return could also be about dragging Darcy away from the bar before she poisons anyone. You never know, with these wordless conversations.

He scans the crowd for their bubbly yet hazardous friend, and spots her outside freezing her toes off on the balcony. She’s wrapped in a decadent fur coat, and the way it swallows up her entire person tells him she must have _borrowed_ it from the cloak room. Steve and Thor are still engrossed in what kind of tablecloth goes with different main courses, so he sighs and excuses himself, resigned to save Darcy from the trouble she’d get into if the owner of that undoubtedly expensive garment finds out.

◆

When a large dark haired man comes up to Bucky and Steve as they load a mountain of groceries into the car, he honestly thought the guy was going to accuse them of raiding the store or something. 

Steve’s going all out in prepping for Hanukkah. He suspects it has to do with making up for not being able to do as much last year, what with being laid up for the whole of December, but he doesn’t bring it up. If Steve wants to overcompensate, then he can knock himself out. 

As soon as he sees Steve’s face when he looks up and catches sight of the bearded man, though, he knows this isn’t just some guy off the street. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the cautious warmth that fills Steve’s voice as he breathes out, “Logan.”

Logan comes a little closer, eyeing the full trunk and flicking his eyes over Bucky for half a second. “Been a while,” he rasps, hands tucked into a bulky dark leather jacket that’s seen better days. 

Steve closes the trunk and clears his throat, taking the distracted second to get himself together. “Yeah,” he finally gets out. “This is Bucky,” he lays a gentle hand on Bucky’s back, a tentative smile making itself known. “I don’t think you guys have met.”

Logan nods at him, and Bucky doesn’t miss the way the other man gives him a thorough once over. Bucky tries not to shift on his feet at the scrutiny. “Big lunch?” he gestures at the now empty cart. 

“Holidays, you know,” Steve shrugs, which isn’t the most eloquent thing he could have said. The gears in Bucky’s head are starting to turn. “Buck, Logan owns the junkyards in Brooklyn. He works with Grieves sometimes.” Ah, right, the junkyards. Everyone in the Roshars knows that’s often where you can go for help. He’s surprised he’s never had to go to any of the three locations himself, actually, which is curious now that he thinks about it. 

“You repainted your car,” Logan runs a callused hand over the roof of Steve’s Mustang. “I like it.” 

Steve fiddles with the edges of his beard, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Yeah, Buck helped me pick out a color,” he croaks out, still gripping Bucky’s back rather firmly. He’s tempted to jump in with some small talk, maybe save Steve from a conversation he doesn’t want to have, as he’s done countless times. Something tells him Logan doesn’t seem the type to get sucked into empty conversation, however, barely engaging with him at all so far. Bucky watches the weird tension between the two men in silence. 

“It’s good to see you,” Logan settles with, and his gaze is piercing, seeing more to Steve than most people do. It’s an intimate look, one Bucky finds a little unnerving, and brings a barrage of questions to mind.

Steve clears his throat, giving Logan a real smile tinged with fondness and sentimentality. “Yeah, you too, Logan.”

Logan watches Steve for a moment before stepping away, and turning to Bucky with a curt, “Nice to meet you,” before leaving with one last glance back over his shoulder. 

He and Steve duck into the car, buckling in in silence. “So that was your ex, right?” It’s not like Bucky’s never met Steve’s exes before, but they were more people he’s casually seen and not whatever it seems like he had with this Logan guy. 

As he’s personally familiar with, Steve’s M.O. was more of a casual hook up. When trust is something that’s so important in anyone Steve truly lets into his life, Bucky can understand how dating can be difficult. The only one closest to a serious ex-boyfriend of Steve’s he’s met is Fandral, Thor’s friend who Steve was seeing for a few months at one point. 

This doesn’t feel like that at all.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, sending Bucky a subdued smile over the central console. “It, uh, didn’t work out.” Bucky bites his tongue to keep the _well duh_ from slipping out. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask about it. It’s not that he’s scared, he’s not worried that Steve’s still in love with his ex or anything - _fuck_ , he better not be - but this is slightly new territory for them. Weirdly enough, the issue of exes have just never come up. “You can ask,” Steve says, slowly pulling out of their parking space. 

Bucky picks at his lips with neatly manicured fingers, and Steve reaches over to lace them with his and keep him from fidgeting. “I don’t know what I’d ask.” It’s only partly true, because he’s got questions, alright, they’re just not very coherent or reasonable. 

Steve lets that sit for a while, before asking, “Do you _want_ to hear about it?” He peers over for a second to see Bucky hesitantly nod, and settles in to parse through his thoughts. The road isn’t backed up with traffic, but a drizzle has started and the cars around them take their time making their way down the street. “We were together for about a year,” Steve starts, tilting his head one way and then the other, contemplating something. “I was, well, kind of not okay at the time.”

Bucky caresses Steve’s hand, up and over his wrists to offer comfort, earning a grateful peck to his cheek. “You worked with him?”

“In a way,” Steve bites at his bottom lip. “We didn’t really work directly with each other, but I knew him because of the Roshars, yeah.” He swallows, and goes on. “He was dealing with some shit too at the time, and we just sort of-,” he shrugs.

“Found comfort in each other?” Bucky suggests.

Steve nods, sighing. “I mean, that’s not the only reason we were together. I loved him, and he was- He deserved better.” Bucky furrows his eyebrows, finding issue with how Steve’s painting himself. “No, I mean it, Buck, neither of us were in a good place, but I was a mess. We just couldn’t make it last, in the end.” 

Bucky lets the silence settle over them, the absence of a carefully curated playlist in the background a little jarring. “Was this the first time you’ve seen him since?” he asks curiously, finding it difficult to believe that they haven’t crossed paths in so long. 

“The second,” Steve tells him. “Logan keeps to himself. Sometimes he travels, too, I guess. I don’t know if he still does that.”

“Hmm,” Bucky nods, and grabs his phone to connect to the car speakers. He doesn’t know if being grateful that Logan couldn’t make it work with Steve all those years ago makes him a bad person, but it probably does. “I’m glad you’re doing better now,” he stretches to kiss Steve’s jaw, prompting affection to flood the older man’s features.

“Me too,” Steve mumbles, pulling his hand closer and resting it on his thigh, running a thumb over the smooth knuckles before letting it go to handle the stick shift. “Guess we ain’t runnin’ into any of _your_ exes, huh?”

Bucky laughs. “Besides Luke? No.” Steve had figured out that Luke was the drummer in the band he joined as a teenager to hook up with, pretty early on after meeting him. “And anyway, they probably wouldn’t come up to me once they see you, Steve, you can be pretty intimidating.” He smirks, rubbing his hand across Steve’s muscular thigh. “Even though you’re a real marshmallow on the inside,” he teases, causing Steve to scoff in mock offense. 

“Shaddup,” he grumbles, grabbing hold of Bucky’s hand to bring it up to his lips for kisses, soft lips and scratchy beard finding sensitive spots across his palm and wrists. Like _that’s_ supposed to prove otherwise. Honestly, who does Steve think he’s fooling? Bucky’s got his number, and it’s mushy tenderness as far as the eye can see _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have strong feelings about Steve having had a full life before we meet him and/or before he finds his other half in Bucky. That may have been apparent throughout this entire series.
> 
> Please share your thoughts, I’m always happy to discuss whatever.  
> Next chapter up in a give or take a week!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert days of our lives theme song here.
> 
> Beta Meraki_Moli is of course the one to clean this one up!

When Bucky sees Alice huddled on their doorstep, clutching her puffy coat and a sad looking duffel bag, his stomach drops to his feet. Arm flying out to grasp Steve’s in sudden crippling worry, he only manages a choked out, “What,” before they pull into the driveway, carefully maneuvering across snow covered ground. 

Bucky jumps out of the car before Steve’s even hit the brakes, all but running to Alice’s side and instinctually wrapping her up in his arms. His own body heat can’t be helping much, but it’s more for comfort than to shield against the weather. “Bucky, I’m fine,” Alice croaks rather unconvincingly, and even in his panic, Bucky can tell her puffy eyes and red nose isn’t just from the cold.

“You’re supposed to be on your way back to Boston, Al, what are you doing here?” She’d come down for Hanukkah and Christmas, as did Becca, as per usual. 

Their lives might all be leading to different places across the country lately, but Bucky made them swear to come home lest he send a couple Roshars after their asses. Oh god, is _he_ the dreaded parental figure his sisters come see for the holidays? Bucky tries to ignore the chilling realization and focus on taking care of his baby sister.

“I, um, had a fight with Peter,” Alice mumbles somewhat reluctantly, like the volume of her voice would lessen Bucky’s concern or ire. “Can I stay here for a bit?” 

Bucky’s already nodding along, ushering her closer to the door and unlocking it, fussing over brushing off wayward snow from her hair and coat. She seems to be looking at something over his shoulder, though, and he only realizes Steve’s presence when his deep voice lined with sincerity and care asserts, “You always have a room here.” 

The rest of the night is spent making up the guest bedroom, and putting together Alice’s favorite soup in the hopes of lifting her spirits. It proves somewhat efficient, Alice enjoying the throwback to when newly minted guardian Bucky could only make dirt cheap, easy to assemble soup. Bucky’s not proud of what he used to feed his sisters back in the day, but Alice finds nostalgia and comfort in the dish. Go figure. 

Steve, on the other hand, makes fake yummy noises that elicit laughter from the younger Barnes, which is good enough for him. 

When prodded on the details of her and Peter’s fight, Alice avoids the subject and makes excuses to keep it to herself for the time being, and Bucky tries not to pry. The way her eyes flicker to Steve, however, makes him think that maybe she’ll open up when they talk alone some other time. He just hopes his sister is alright. 

It’s nice to have Alice around, if a little weird. She’s never come for a prolonged stay before, but she slips into his life with Steve with ease. Bucky gets accustomed to waking up not to Steve bringing him coffee in bed, but Steve and Alice in the kitchen making a ruckus. He can’t imagine what they could possibly be banging around pots and pans so much for, since Steve usually whips up an impossibly large breakfast spread on his own without so much noise. 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but one morning finds him leaning against the bedroom doorway, watching as Steve teaches Alice to make greasy, perfectly seasoned hash. “I don’t know if this will go well with,” Alice waves a hand over the full pan, “everything.” 

Soft light comes from two old bulbs on either side of the counter, windows still looking out at a dark gray clinging stubbornly to the sky. He wonders why the overhead lights aren’t turned on, but the sight of Steve and Alice tucked away in the only splash of golden warmth in the kitchen strikes him in some unnamable part deep inside his chest. It doesn’t sound too much like an exaggeration to say that the universe chose to illuminate the contents of his heart in one tiny space of the world. 

“Don’t matter, put in whatever you want. Gotta get rid of those leftovers anyway.” Alice throws in the container of, well, Bucky’s not even sure what they’re trying to incorporate into hash. Knowing Steve, as much as he can get away with. “Don’t cook the bell pepper yet, we want ‘em still fresh and crunchy.”

Alice obediently keeps the bell pepper on the cutting board, chopping the last of it in enthusiastic if jerky motions. “You do the eggs, I’ll just break them and leave us with weird egg-y hash.” 

Steve refuses the bowl of eggs nudged in his direction. “You’ll be fine.” Alice gingerly picks one up, and with a nod of encouragement from Steve, cracks it into a corner of the pan. She pouts, looking alarmingly like her thirteen year old self. “I think I fucked that one up.” 

Steve wordlessly hands over another egg, and motions for her to add it in. Alice takes it with a sigh and cracks it against the edge of the pan. She must have used a tad too much force, however, because the whole egg breaks onto the stove underneath, yolk dripping down the counter and over her foot below. Steve gapes in shock, while Alice looks on in resignation, hand covered in raw egg. 

Steve laughs, loud enough to have woken Bucky if he was still asleep, and Alice sheepishly cleans up with a kitchen towel. Once everything is mopped up and the towel put away, Steve calmly hands over yet another egg. The ripple of curious shock across Alice’s face quickly melts into one of endearment, and she carries on with only a touch more caution.

“How was your Christmas?” Steve asks.

Alice shrugs, picking out bits of eggshells. Bucky keeps it in mind to look out for stray pieces when they actually sit down for breakfast. “The usual. Big tree, giant turkey, fancy silverware and crystal flutes.”

“The Quills the kind to throw big Christmas parties?”

“With formal invites and plus ones.” Steve quirks an eyebrow in intrigue. “They’re the kind to call their place in town their _New York home_. Apparently the house over in Connecticut is _much_ nicer and I’ve had the honor of being invited.” Alice reaches over for her cup of coffee, taking a careful sip. “Peter grew up going to summer homes and spending his winters skiing.”

“That’s… nice,” Steve comments. 

Alice sighs, fiddling with the unraveling stitches of a dishtowel. “It’s whatever. We just have different kinds of families, it’s not a big deal.”

Steve takes the handfuls of bell pepper and finally adds them to the hash, lifting the pan to adjust the burner. “It’s okay to feel whatever way you do, Alice.” Bucky can’t see her face, but Steve must be reading her pretty well. “Doesn’t mean you don’t love him.”

Alice turns her head slightly, a soft smile breaking through as she looks up at the older man. “I do. Love him, that is.” 

“Well,” Steve sets a lid over the hash and takes it off the stove to cool. “Can’t choose who you fall for. Sometimes you’re bound to end up with some obnoxious rich guy.” 

Alice snorts, poking Steve in his side. “Yeah, we Barneses have really shitty taste in men.”

“Watch it,” Steve teases, gently elbowing her as he whips up some fresh cream. Alice giggles, and sets up the waffle maker when asked. 

The two work in silence for a minute, Steve inevitably falling into humming one of his old tunes. Alice watches his surprisingly slim hips sway with the beat, lips quirked in amusement. “Ma used to do the same thing.” When Steve cocks his head in question, she goes on to say, “Sing while she cooks. The kitchen was never silent, and even Bucky did it after she was gone.”

A smile so soft Bucky wonders if he should make his presence known graces Steve’s lips, his eyes trained onto some faraway image. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Bucky can feel heat rush onto his cheeks. He thought Steve was the more musical one of them, always losing himself to one unidentifiable tune or another when zoning in on a task, but apparently Bucky’s not immune to the urge either. “What’s your song of choice then?”

Alice shakes her head, shorter pieces of dark hair falling out of its ponytail. “Um, I don’t have one?” She shrugs, “Peter does most of the cooking.” 

Steve hums, pilfering shredded cheese from the bowl set aside for his specialty cheesy mushroom omelettes. “Well, you get to pick one now.” Steve watches Alice chew on something, and Bucky furrows his eyebrows over whatever seems to be eating at her so much that she can get lost in the middle of a conversation. Steve clears his throat, and volunteers, “Mine’s this folk song my Ma used to sing when we had enough for extra dessert. Sometimes I can taste caramel just hearin’ the opening verse.” 

Alice laughs, either at Steve or maybe at whatever comes to mind, because she goes on to say, “Every time Bucky sings SexyBack, I think of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and gatorade.” Steve’s laugh is only slightly confused, and Bucky has to hold back from an audible cackle. “That’s what he always used to make me after school. I think it went on for about three years before he switched to something else.”

Steve tuts in mock disapproval - though maybe it’s genuine on some level. “Okay, so not Justin Timberlake.” When Alice doesn’t volunteer any other options, Steve lets the subject go with an easy, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Becca’s is Lady Marmalade,” Alice suddenly pipes up. “She thinks it’s funny when she sings it and makes something with jam.” Steve bursts into giggles, and a tight, enveloping fondness unexpectedly spreads across Bucky’s chest at the easy way Alice rolls her eyes. He can almost _hear_ her mutterings of old people and bad jokes that don’t make any goddamn sense.

The sight of two of his favorite people munching on undercooked ingredients straight off the pan and messing around creating an unforgivable pile of dishes hits him unexpectedly hard, something he never thought he’d lay his eyes on. A life where he has a partner Alice can count on as much as she does him and Becca, and learn from, has never even crossed his mind.

Even with the life he’s built with Steve, this home they’ve both cultivated and made space for his sisters and Steve’s family, Bucky never thought he’d have a partner to bear the weight of taking care of Alice. She might be an adult with her own life, but being a brother - or rather, a parent - is even harder now than it was when she was in the throes of puberty. Not that he would go back to those years no matter what you paid him. 

He has to turn away and slip back into the bedroom, tears prickling his eyes from the unending wave of feelings so tender they’re nearly choking him. He lets the door close and cut off whatever Steve and Alice are giggling about, burying himself under the mountain of blankets once more, and resolving to wait for Steve’s scratchy kisses to wake him later when the sun’s come to greet them properly. He’ll curl up in this delicate breakable feeling and pretend that he isn’t broken open by something so tame.

◆

Bucky flips through a manual on a 1970s oven, inexplicably found on one of Tony’s work tables between half constructed instruments he can barely identify. It’s surprisingly mundane, given how advanced the rest of the trinkets filling the area usually are. 

On second thought, he wouldn’t even know if that was the case. The weirdly shaped contraption to his left might as well be an old dryer Tony’s picked apart for fun, and have just been deconstructed enough to look like some futuristic invention of his.

A loud squeal of laughter catches his attention, Cassie pushing Steve’s hand away from her colored pencil masterpiece. He’s not actually taking over her admittedly considerably impressive portrait for a third grader, but he’s faking like he wants to add an extra beard to her rendering of an imaginary prince, or at the very least a handlebar mustache.

After much back and forth, Cassie lets him adorn the edges of the large A3 paper with vines and tiny crowns - Steve somehow makes them look both cartoonish and astonishingly detailed. 

When Scott had to step out to take care of an errand over an hour ago and leave Cassie for a short while, Steve jumped at the chance to keep her company. Bruce, Natasha, and Tony looked taken aback by his enthusiasm at volunteering for, well, anything, but Scott knows better and wasn’t the least bit phased. 

“What do you think should be growing around Prince Charming?” Steve asks, already getting started on what looks like a small columbine flower. 

Cassie watches the dark blue pencil birth a delicate looking plant under Steve’s fingers, entranced in the continuous strokes of the instrument and chewing on the edges of a curious smile. “His name’s not Prince Charming,” she can’t help but oppose. “It’s Baroccious.” 

Steve pauses his doodling and blinks at Cassie silently. “It’s what now?”

“Baroccious,” Cassie pulls her shoulders back and announces. “And he’s a king.” 

Steve lets that sink in before returning to what he was assigned to. “Baroccious it is.” The petals quickly multiply, and soon enough flowers are creeping their way around the edges of the page. “What kind of King is he?”

“He has lots of horses and bread,” Cassie shares. 

“What’s he like?” Steve tries to inquire further, to see if the young blonde has dreamt up more for her royal character besides what’s in his stables and pantry. Bucky shuffles over and settles on the bench next to Steve, enraptured by the easy way new shapes are making up all kinds of flora sprout from the tip of the pencil. 

He often finds watching Steve work on his pieces nothing short of spellbinding, though that’s not always the case. The work he does in the studio is always unpredictable, the peaceful stretches of time hard won after Steve hems and haws for however long over whatever it is that drives him to sketch and paint. It’s always best to leave him on his own when still in the chaotic stage of things, so Bucky cherishes the moments where he can sit in the calm and quiet when Steve is finally swathed in a heavy blanket of tranquility as he works. 

Cassie pokes Steve’s hand with a purple colored pencil, undoubtedly requesting a different kind of plant to be rendered on the page. “He’s a king, and he has bread for the kingdom,” is what she decides on. “Sometimes even cheese. Kings are good people.” 

“Hmm,” Steve starts drawing hyssops on the bottom of the page. “I don’t know, Cassie, not everyone’s good all the time.” Cassie keeps her hands busy adding embellishments to jewels across the king’s crown and staff, but she’s clearly listening to Steve and waiting to hear more. The inquisitive eyes looking up at the older man are clearly shining in question. “Not everyone you meet is good, kid. Don’t let ‘em fool you.” 

“Okay,” Cassie says quietly. “Maybe Baroccious can be good, though.” 

“Yeah,” Steve allows, face soft as he finishes up a corner of the page, flowers now framing Cassie’s drawing of the king. “He can be one of the few good ones.”

“Jesus, Rogers, what kind of lesson is that?” Tony pipes up from the workbench across the room. Steve spares him a glance in acknowledgment, though he doesn’t say anything. 

Natasha, surprisingly, is the one to throw her hat in the ring. “It’s only a little better than the lessons I grew up with.” The sudden mention of her childhood is shocking enough that Steve lets himself react, even if it is just the quirk of a brow. Bucky can’t tell if what she said was supposed to be supportive or an admonishment.

“I’d think Scott would want to have a say in who teaches his daughter what pearls of wisdom,” Tony points out instead, not bothering to unpack Natasha’s rare sharing mood. Huh, and they say Starks don’t know tact. “Even if it _is_ coming from the oh so pure Captain America.”

“Scott can decide for himself,” Steve shrugs, a comment that barely touches on any of Tony’s qualms with his mini after school special. 

“Yes, I can, what am I deciding?” Scott arrives just in time, going straight for Cassie and kissing the top of her head in greeting. The eight year old launches into the story of King Baroccious, a tale riddled with plot points that have nothing to do with carbs or stallions. Guess she just wanted her dad around to do the retelling justice. 

Bucky nudges Steve with the 1970s oven manual, and the older man stares at it blankly before asking, “Is this you saying you want us to get a 70s oven? Because we both know you barely touch the one we have, and I am _not_ cooking with something from when I was mostly dead just because it comes in jewel tones.” Bucky smacks him with the book because _hey, he definitely uses the oven to heat things up_. “Besides, do you know the wrath that would come down on us from Dani if we messed with the kitchen setup?”

Bucky ignores Steve’s not inaccurate but unwarranted speech, and tosses the book away. He just wanted to show Steve the cute pans that came with the oven but whatever. Cassie’s telling Scott all about the snacks they _have_ to get for tonight’s sleepover, one that according to her will be attended by Erica. Cassie has not been able to get enough of the younger girl ever since Steve suggested those two have a playdate, and thankfully Erica doesn’t mind making a new friend. 

“You’re seeing Wanda tonight?” Bucky asks, knowing that he needs to touch base with her soon. 

Scott starts to pack away Cassie’s things into his trusty backpack, only a few of her many possessions going into his daughter’s own much smaller bag. “Only for a bit, I’m picking up Erica for the sleepover. I think Wanda’s got a date tonight with Roy.”

“Roy?” Steve looks up from where he’s flipping through the manual Bucky abandoned after all, surely finding the set of kitchen knives with a dark teal chopping block tempting. Steve never turns down the chance to further equip their kitchen, and Bucky would’ve told him about it if he hadn’t gone on a whole fucking lecture about goddamn ovens. 

Scott nods, certain now that he’s given it some thought. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she said Roy.”

“The fuck? Wanda’s just a kid.” Steve narrows his eyes, looking between Scott and Bucky. 

Neither of them can find anything to say, until Scott reminds him, “I think she’s 23 now?” 

“Oh,” Steve deflates. Bucky can somewhat see where Steve’s coming from, remembering the young 20 year old he met in a warehouse in the middle of the night, begging the Roshars to take her and her twin brother in. She had the courage of someone much older, but her lost, frightened look is something he can never forget.

Bucky never misses the opportunity to rile Steve up, so as he gets up and starts putting on his coat, he drags the conversation on with a dramatic sigh of, “She’s only a year younger than _I_ was when we met.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, mumbling, “Okay, yeah, whatever,” and even without knowing who they’re talking about, Tony is unable to keep himself from putting in his two cents with a loud cough that does nothing to mask the clear and obvious, “Hypocrite,” muffled behind his hand.

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait, only letting out a light huff in protest. Bucky can see the rest of the room eyeing Steve in amusement and curiosity, with even Bruce looking up from reading an article on a recently discovered microorganism. Scott breaks out into a wry laugh under his breath, and Steve smacks him upside the head when Cassie is busy putting on her backpack. 

He might be acting like he’s annoyed by the call out, but the upturned lips pressed against Bucky’s temple when Steve comes in to pull him closer says enough about the humor he sees in his own actions. 

“You know, Roy’s pretty well off, maybe he’ll treat Wanda right and sweep her off her feet,” Bucky drags Steve’s arm tighter around his shoulders. 

Steve’s eyes sparkle, twinkling with delight as he asks, “Aw, ’s that what I did, Buck?” 

“Nah, but Wanda’s always had better luck than me,” Bucky flashes a shit eating grin in the face of his boyfriend’s look of offense. Before Steve can form a retort, he ducks out of his warm embrace and leads the way to the door with a decisive, “Come on, old man, we got things to do, chop chop.”

Scott snorts in amusement, holding the door open for them after saying his goodbyes to everyone else. Steve puts on his jacket and follows obediently, even as he grumbles, “Maybe I’ll trade you in for a younger model, Buck. Bet they wouldn’t show me this disrespect.” 

Bucky tuts at him shamefully as they enter the elevator, shaking his head at Steve’s scowl, but both are looking all too adoringly at the other for anyone to believe a word of their mock argument.

◆

When he planned on grabbing some food from the deli today, he didn’t think he’d have company, much less one in the form of his sister’s boyfriend, Peter Quill. 

Alice has been staying with him and Steve for a couple weeks, and the most he got out of her about whatever is happening with Peter is that they’re okay and she just wanted to get some space and to spend some time back home. She even talks to Peter sometimes, Bucky catching her talking on the phone or texting every few days. 

So when Peter showed up on his doorstep asking to see Alice, he was only somewhat surprised that she refused to come out. “Look, we’re okay, but I’m a little upset with him, okay?” Alice finally told Bucky. “We’re working through some things, but I just wanted to be away for a bit,” she shrugged, snuggling further into the couch.

“Hey, I get it, Al,” Bucky smoothed over a stubborn curl near her temple, fingers tracing over the baby hairs across her hairline. “I’ll go get some food with him, that okay?”

“What?” Alice’s eyes snapped onto his, wary but not protesting. Bucky’s had his share of dealing with his sisters’ partners. Bonding with whoever they’re dating at the time is one of his many duties since even before his Ma passed. Getting to know the person your sister’s spending most of her time with is always a good idea. 

If Peter and Alice are sticking it out even as they’re going through whatever this is, Bucky should try to make more of an effort to connect with the guy. Peter living in Boston is not a good enough excuse for Bucky to barely know him. 

“I don’t have to,” Bucky shrugged. “But you’re both having a tough time. Let me talk to him over some pie.” Bucky feels kind of ashamed that he hasn’t been as on the ball when it comes to Peter. He has to admit, he’s been kind of preoccupied with his own shit the past few years. Some people may call that having a life that _doesn’t_ solely revolve around his little sisters anymore, but Bucky can’t help but feel a growing ball of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

Alice weighed out her options, before declaring, “Only if you bring me home a slice.”

“Alice, I’ll bring you the whole damn pie.” 

Peter unwinds his scarf and sets it aside, looking much more at ease than he did when Bucky opened the front door and told him that Alice was unavailable, but to follow him for a quick bite instead. 

Carl, always dependable and with one eye on the door, comes over with a few dishes for Bucky as soon as they take their seats. Bucky’s accepted that he’ll eat whatever’s served to him when he comes to the deli, sure that Carl knows what he feels like having better than himself. “Who’s this?” he asks in a low, gruff voice, eyes trailing Peter’s pristine coat and thousand dollar jeans. 

“This is Alice’s boyfriend, Peter.” Alice has been to the deli almost everyday since staying in town, unable to resist its delicacies when living so close. It probably also doesn’t hurt that Carl keeps giving her a free slice of pie every time she stops by, ever since Bucky told him she was his baby sister. Carl has _really_ come around to Bucky Barnes. 

“You can have some of her favorites, then.”

Peter, however, chooses to ask, “Um, can I see the menu?” 

Carl stares him down for long enough that Peter shuffles in his seat and slides his gaze away to Bucky in a clear search of help. He decides to save Peter from possible maiming after a full minute of silence. “Whatever’s fine, Carl, we don’t need a menu.” Carl nods triumphantly, and lumbers back behind the counter to get Peter’s food ready.

Bucky has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from showing his amusement. Carl doesn’t usually mind people ordering from the menu, of course, but he’s never had anyone refuse his personal chosen picks for them either. Bucky has a feeling this probably has more to do with Alice letting on that she’s in the midst of boyfriend troubles, though, and - as most people are - Carl’s taken quite the liking to the youngest Barnes. 

“You’ll like it,” Bucky assures him, and Peter chooses not to comment, shrugging out of his outerwear. “You been spending time with your family?”

“What? Oh, no,” Peter shakes his head. “I headed back to Boston after Christmas.” They’d last seen each other at Hanukkah, Peter joining the Barneses at Becca’s just like the year before. Bucky doesn’t know why he assumed Peter stayed in town too when Alice did. “Just came down here this afternoon, actually,” he says almost sheepishly. “I wanted to see Alice.”

“Right.” Carl comes over with Peter’s food, and drops off a boxed pie, too, to take home. When he leaves, Peter digs in and widens his eyes in delight, getting out a garbled _this is amazing_ if Bucky deciphered his words correctly. 

Bucky chews over how to approach Peter about this rough patch with his sister, wanting of all things for Alice to be happy. Seems to him like being with Peter is what she wants. The fact that he doesn’t know Peter well enough to provide comfort and advice is yet more proof that he’s been unforgivably absent in his sister’s life in recent years. The guilt gnaws at him from the inside out. 

“How’ve you been, Peter?” he finally settles with. 

“Um,” Peter runs his hand through artfully tousled hair, and Bucky can’t help but be impressed that his fingers don’t get stuck in that bird’s nest chock full of product. He internally sighs at himself. He doesn’t know _why_ he keeps judging Peter. Bucky can hear Alice telling him off in his head. “I’ve been okay,” he says after swallowing down his mouthful. “I mean, not the best.”

“The holidays are always tough,” Bucky allows. “Even tougher right after.” 

Peter fidgets with his fork, and hesitantly asks, “She really didn’t want to come talk to me?”

Bucky pushes one of his plates closer to Peter, motioning for him to give it a try. “She just needs some time. I think the point of her not coming back to Boston with you is so that you guys can have some space.” He watches as Peter twists his lips, and Bucky bumps their legs together under the table in some effort of breaking him out of his thoughts with a friendly gesture. “It’s kind of hard to do that if you’re here after just a couple of weeks, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter agrees with a rueful smile. Neither of them mentions that a couple of weeks feels like eternity when you’re away from someone you love. “I just don’t want to lose her,” he confesses, eyebrows drawn together as he stabs a fork into his food. 

“You won’t,” Bucky says with confidence. Even when Peter looks at him in doubt, he reiterates, “Alice loves you, I know that much. And if you guys are working this hard to get through a problem, then you’re doing things just right.” 

Peter ducks his head, Bucky catching a hint of a smile. “I love her too.”

“Well, as long as you keep showing her that and you guys treat each other well, you’ll be perfectly fine.” Bucky nudges his leg gently once more. “Hey, I’m rooting for you two, so don’t mess it up, okay?”

Peter laughs, his fingers tugging on an errant curl. “I always thought you didn’t like me.”

“I gotta say, kid, I don’t know you well enough to not like you,” Bucky says with more than a little bit of remorse. “I’m sorry about that.”

Peter takes him in for a long second, before giving a tentative smile. “S’okay.”

“It’s not, really. My baby sister’s off living with some guy whose middle name I don’t even know.” Peter laughs like that’s funny, but the horror of letting Alice shack up with a man he’s only met a handful of times is slowly setting in. “Seriously, what is it?”

“Jason,” Peter tells him, and Bucky scrunches his nose in distaste but doesn’t verbally comment. Thankfully, any reaction he might have had to give to his middle name - not that he’d have a leg to stand on on that front - is interrupted by Gen coming through the back, presumably coming down from the apartment above the deli. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” she comes over to their table. “Deena needs to run something by you about the youth center.” She breaks off a piece of crust from his plate, and tosses it in her mouth. “Hey,” Gen nods at Peter, only sparing him a glance. 

“I’ll come by the house tonight, if she needs to see me,” Bucky sighs. “Why didn’t she call?”

Gen shrugs. “Beats me.” She steals a fry and eats it whole, humming in pleasure. “People don’t want to bother you during your time off, I think. Your sister’s visiting right?”

“I’m not-” Bucky pulls out his phone just to make sure that he doesn’t miss anything and to let anyone who contacts him know that he’s around, and is only now realizing that people have been texting him way more in lieu of calling him up. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, much preferring to get things out of the way with a straightforward call instead of getting back to a bunch of messages. “My kid sister’s in town, yeah, but I’m not taking time off.” 

“Oh,” Gen lights up, and makes to settle at the booth with them, but Bucky waves her off. 

“Whatever it is, we can talk tonight at the house,” he moves his plate of fries farther away from Gen’s reaching fingers. “It’s not a good time right now,” he cocks his head towards Peter. Gen finally looks at the younger man for more than two seconds, and probably only then realizes he’s not some new guy she just doesn’t know yet from the Roshars. 

“Fine,” she sighs. “Will Steve be there?”

Bucky gives a noncommittal shrug and Gen huffs, trying to swipe yet more food off his plate. Carl calls out a booming, “Come over here and get you own fuckin’ food, Gen!” The dark haired woman rolls her eyes but compiles, finally leaving them alone to grab the wrapped up food to go that Carl has ready and waiting. Bucky would be impressed - but not shocked - but then realizes the food’s prepared for Rita when the woman herself emerges from the back.

“Bucky, picking up more pie for your sister?” Rita asks when she sees him. It looks like Alice’s never ending craving for deli pie has become a well-known fact. 

Bucky gestures to the wrapped up pie for Alice. “She can’t get enough of it.”

“Carl’s one hell of a cook,” Rita agrees, saying a quick goodbye as she grabs the food from Gen and leads the way out. She’s got an overnight bag in hand, and a car pulls up out front for the both of them. Bucky remembers that she’ll be out of town for the weekend and calls after her with wishes of safe travels. 

When he turns his attention back to the table, Peter is wide eyed, hissing a hair too loudly, “Was that _Rita Ashe_?” Peter may not be from Brooklyn, but he is a New Yorker. Practically everyone knows Rita’s allegedly head of the Irish Mob, or is at least one of its most prominent members. Bucky honestly didn’t think she’d be around. 

He pulls over the slice of cherry pie and sets down fresh utensils for the both of them. “Have you tried the pie?”

◆

△

Steve watches as Bucky and Peter make their way closer to the house. He flicks his cigarette against the porch railing before taking another drag. Coming home to an unfamiliar car out front was nerve-racking to say the least, but then Alice graciously told him it was Peter’s and that Bucky was taking him out for food. 

That explanation still didn’t sit right with him, uncomfortable with Peter just showing up without warning, but he held his tongue for Alice’s sake. Something tells him the disgruntled look on his face all but screamed his unease, however, what with the way Alice tried to tell him that it isn’t that big a deal. 

Steve wants to argue that if it truly isn’t, then Alice would be the one having a talk with Peter and not her brother, but he digresses. It’s not his place to interfere in Alice’s relationship, no matter how close they’ve grown over the last couple years - and the past few weeks.

Peter plasters on a charming smile when they get to the house, greeting him with a slightly awkward, “Hi, uh, Steve.” He hasn’t called him Captain since that first time they met for Hanukkah last year, but it always takes him a while to get comfortable enough to use his first name whenever they spend time together. Baby steps, he supposes. 

“Hi, honey,” Steve says against Bucky’s lips when he comes in for a peck hello, smoothing over the bunched up scarf sticking halfway out of his coat. He nods at Peter, taking in his flushed face and unruly hair. “You should be careful with a car like that ‘round here,” Steve points his chin towards Peter’s Bentley parked at the curb. 

“Oh, uh,” Peter shifts on his feet, tucking both hands in his pockets and flitting his eyes back towards his ostentatious car, gleaming a dark silver and sticking out like a sore thumb. It might as well have a neon sign asking for trouble. “It’s got pretty good protection and alarm.” 

Steve lifts an eyebrow, choosing not to point out otherwise - mostly. “Looks easy enough to take those rims off your hands from where I’m standing.” 

Peter opens his mouth and closes it again, looking over to his car as if someone could have done something in the two seconds he’s been speaking with Steve. Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head at Steve in exasperation. “Have a safe drive home, Peter,” he goes to hug the man, when the front door opens to Alice herself, in pajamas and a much too large coat Steve hasn’t worn in years.

Steve watches as Alice asks Peter to stay for a bit, and Peter lights up at the fact that she wants to see him in person after all. Bucky ushers them to seats on the porch and goes to grab a couple mugs of hot chocolate to keep them warm. It’s not like they can go inside. 

When Steve doesn’t do anything but put out his cigarette and light up another one, Alice pointedly furrows her eyebrows at him, a look so severe and commanding he reluctantly steps away. “I’m gonna,” he gestures at the pack he slips into his jacket pocket and leaves the porch, Alice promising to let Bucky know if he asks. 

He takes a walk around the block, chain-smoking for half an hour before circling back home, where Peter looks to have left and Alice is waiting for him out front. “Bucky’s at the house, he’ll be back tonight,” Alice tells him when they go back inside, shrugging off the giant coat and going into the kitchen to heat up milk for more cocoa. “Peter says you offered him some advice about keeping his car safe.”

Steve accepts his own mug when Alice offers, blinking in incredulous surprise. “I wouldn’t say that’s what happened.” 

Alice hunts down cinnamon, marshmallows, and fresh whipped cream, moving around the kitchen like she’s always lived there. Steve can’t help but feel warmth bloom in his chest knowing that, to some extent, he’s made a home for Bucky’s family. “How’d your talk go?” Steve asks once they’re settled at the table sipping drinks laden with tooth rotting add ons. Alice has to wipe off excess whipped cream that gets on her nose. 

“I mean, it wasn’t a _talk_ talk,” Alice rolls her eyes. “We just, um.” Steve doesn’t miss the way her eyes flit over to his and Bucky’s bedroom door, even when she knows that her brother isn’t home. He’s had the feeling that Alice is so tight lipped about her fight with Peter because she doesn’t want to tell Bucky specifically, though he can’t think of why.

“Hey,” Steve nudges her knee with his own. “You can tell me whatever and if you want, I won’t spill any details to Buck.” Alice looks at him doubtfully, but he offers up a very solemn pinky swear, eliciting a snort of amusement. “Come on, we take promises very seriously in the Brooklyn Irish.”

Alice rolls her eyes like she can’t be bothered, but wraps Steve’s pinky with her own, and the smile that creeps onto her face is so tentative and _young_. Steve steels himself for whatever it is she might tell him, and hopes to whatever the fuck is watching over him that he doesn’t fuck this up. 

“We’ve been thinking of moving back to New York,” Alice starts, and Steve has to admit that’s not what he was expecting her to say. “I can train in the city and a lot of Peter’s work is here too, but we’ve been on the fence. I really want to move back closer to Bucky and Becca,” she bashfully smiles up at him, like it’s something to be embarrassed about. 

“Bucky would love that, Alice,” Steve tells her whole-heartedly. He’d be ecstatic, to be completely honest. 

Alice fidgets with a loose thread on her pajama pants, averting her eyes. “Peter thinks I base too many decisions on Bucky.” Steve brings his eyebrows together, already not liking where this is going. “It’s not-,” Alice shakes her head when she sees his expression. “He’s not keeping me from my brother or anything, I promise. He just thinks I’m making a change in my athletic career just because Bucky wants me to live closer to home.”

Steve thinks over his words, trying to find the right way to say what he’s thinking. “Even if you’re moving because of him, that’s okay too. You’re allowed to miss your family.” He runs a finger around the rim of his mug. “But Bucky isn’t going to mind you staying in Boston, I can tell you that much. Fuck, Alice, we’ll visit more often so you guys can see each other more.”

“No, I know that,” Alice waves away his concern. “That’s not why this whole,” she gestures to the house, presumably meaning to convey her extended stay, “thing is happening.”

“Okay,” Steve waits her out. 

“I told him I wanted to move home for _a lot_ of reasons but somewhere between the _career objectives_ and _family obligations_ ,” Alice rolls her eyes, “he, um-” She looks up at him hesitantly.

Steve laughs lightly, making himself look harmless and welcoming. “Hey, if he said shit about me that’s fine, I don’t care. Won’t go off the handle, I swear.” 

Alice laughs along, though something about it tells him that he might have guessed correctly. “He didn’t say anything about you, really. But-” She shakes her head in disbelief, and some compartmentalized anger seems to be coming back to her. “He said something about how Bucky wouldn’t understand why staying in Boston might be better for my career given he’s only a PA for his boyfriend.” 

Steve sighs, easily seeing how that would tick her off. 

“I kinda lost my shit,” Alice laughs at herself. “Bucky’s always worked himself to the bone trying to keep Becca and I alive, no matter the job. Everything he does is to help us, and Peter doesn’t even know the half of it, much less the work he does now.”

“I know,” Steve soothingly caresses her arm.

“Even if he’s still just pulling double shifts as a receptionist for some shitty warehouse like back in college, it still means fuck all. He wouldn’t make me move home and derail my career because he was _selfish_ , he’d be working ‘round the clock to make sure I got enough for rent. Just ‘cause Peter can’t understand what my brother does don’t mean he can judge.” She heaves a deep sigh, a weight visibly coming off her shoulders. “Told him to fuck off and stop lookin’ down on my brother if he wanted his nuts intact.” Steve tamps down on the grin at hearing Alice’s usually dampened Brooklyn accent come through. 

“Bet he listened to that,” Steve smirked, and Alice smiles in confirmation. 

She slumps like she’s finally let go of some unnamable weight, drinking the rest of her cocoa in one go. “He didn’t really mean anything so vicious by it. Just kinda came out, but I was pissed anyway so I told him I was gonna stay home for a bit while he goes back to Boston.”

“As long as he understands why what he said wasn’t okay with you,” Steve hands over a paper towel to clean off more whipped cream. 

“Yeah, I set him straight on some stuff after I calmed down. Talked to him earlier, too. Some of it he just will never get, how much Bucky killed himself takin’ care of me.” Alice gives him a resigned shrug. “His family’s nothing like ours. But he’s trying his best. We’ll be fine, I just want to spend some time with Bucky before going back to training.” 

“Next time Peter does something stupid, you can always give me a call,” Steve offers, and Alice dismisses it without thought. “I’m serious, Alice, I can be your extra muscle,” he teases. Alice goes to wash her mug and put it away, now used to Steve’s distaste for dishwashers. Steve watches her at the sink, and hopes that he provided some level of comfort and a sympathetic ear. 

Sometimes he looks at either of Bucky’s sisters and sees so much of the man he loves in them. He doesn’t think he’s come to care so much about Becca and Alice solely because of that though. He means it when he says he’ll always only be a phone call away if anything comes up with Peter. 

He wonders if New York knows that the most dangerous thing you can do these days is date a Barnes sister.

▽

◆

Bucky stands in front of the large mirror and watches as the steel blue suit hugs every dip and curve of his body, the breadth of his shoulders and chest accentuated and his legs looking downright mouth watering. He can feel Steve watch him preen from behind, and looks over his shoulder to see the man trailing his eyes across his back. He can feel the heat in that gaze like a tangible thing. 

They’re at their tailor, fitting Bucky for some new suits and picking up a couple shirts for Steve. The guy _still_ refuses to buy clothes, especially formalwear, with more frequency because of his _principles_ , but for some reason sees no harm in indulging Bucky in new purchases every time the occasion calls for it. He knows Steve will bend over backwards to justify it if he brings it up. 

“You look gorgeous, Buck,” Steve molds himself to his back, hands making their way under the jacket and onto his hips, head ducking to pepper kisses across his neck and collarbone. “Could just eat you up,” he mumbles before finding a sensitive spot behind his ear.

Bucky bats him away half-heartedly. “Pat’s just stepping out to grab your shirts, Steve, don’t go starting something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, that don’t gotta be true.” Contrary to his own words, Steve does reign himself in, even as he suggests, “We can always find a corner far enough away from Pat’s ears.” 

“He’s old, not deaf,” Bucky protests. 

Steve hums and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s caused himself on Bucky’s previously picture perfect suit. Once everything’s back to how they approximately looked before, he takes a deep breath and squares his jaw. Bucky watches determination fill his eyes and knows that Steve’s about to say something he’s going to want to pay attention to. 

Sure enough, Steve manages to decisively blurt out, “I don’t _not_ want kids,” albeit looking like he’s facing down a firing squad.

Bucky finds himself processing the words for perhaps longer than advisable, given that Steve looks like he’s being left out in the cold with every passing second. He turns around to look up at Steve and into his eyes, trying to figure out what could be inside that head of his. “Okay,” he nods. “You understand that when I asked about kids, I wasn’t saying I want them, right?”

Steve vigorously nods, taking Bucky’s hands in his own and tangling their fingers together. “I know. I’m not saying I want them either,” he swallows thickly, and Bucky watches a myriad of emotions play across Steve’s features. “But if it’s something we want, someday, then maybe we can.” He searches Bucky’s eyes for a long moment. “I just don’t want you to think that it’s completely off the table. I mean, Rachel did it right?”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “If your beloved friend could, so can you?”

Steve’s smile softens into something more genuine, losing the humor in it. “I mean it, Buck. You gotta tell me if that’s something you want. Just wanna make you happy.” 

Bucky brushes back a dark blonde lock of hair off Steve’s forehead, kissing him soft and slow. “That’s what I want too, to make you happy, for as long as possible. We’ll figure out what that means for us, okay?” Steve nods, coming in to chase his lips once more.

“Love you so much, Buck.” Bucky can’t suppress the blinding grin taking over his face even if he wanted to, feeling all too soft and mushy for two o’clock in the afternoon in an old Irishman’s back alley tailor shop. He returns the sentiment anyway. 

Bucky remembers being here all those years ago, fantasizing about picking out fabric patterns as something more than just Steve’s personal assistant, someone who’s part of his life because he’s wanted there for more than just a job. It feels like a lifetime ago when he didn’t have Steve Rogers as a partner in everything that matters, building a future he wouldn’t have even thought to dream about. If only that Bucky knew what was waiting for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Becca the entirety of this chapter: What am I, chopped liver?
> 
> Any remarks welcome, talk to me about things.  
> Another installment in a week or so as per usual, keep an eye out!


End file.
